


Angel on His Shoulder

by Zanne



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: AU, F/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-06-24
Updated: 2011-07-02
Packaged: 2017-10-20 16:37:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanne/pseuds/Zanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A strange boy rescues little Jensen from the closet monster one night and a friendship is born.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to celtprincess13 and gypsy_atavari for betaing! This story will be comprised of a series of vignettes of Jensen and Castiel at different ages as their relationship develops over the years. Jensen and his family own themselves, Kripke owns Castiel.

The boy had shown up one night when Jensen was huddled under the covers, Jensen’s large green eyes peering over the edge of his blanket and staring fearfully at his partially open closet door.

Jensen didn’t much like his room at night. During the day, the cheerful blue paint and his cowboy bedspread made him feel like a big boy. His toy box sat proudly beneath his curtained window, and the room was splashed with a hob-nob of childish frivolity, stuffed animals and toys softening the hard edges and flat surfaces of the furniture.

But at night, those soft lines and blunted corners surpassed their original dimensions, sharp edged shadows shearing across his moonlit walls. The kindly teddy that slumped in the corner of his dresser sat watching him hungrily, eyes glittering darkly in the dim light. The shadow of the tree branch that danced outside during the day morphed into a razor-taloned hand reaching across the wall to slice his belly in his sleep.

Not to mention his closet. Momma knew the rule. The closet door had to be _closed_ before Jensen could go to sleep.

Momma had forgotten to close it tight enough, and it had slowly swung open with an ominous squeak, leaving a two-inch gap of death burning black against the white paint surrounding it.

Jensen just knew something was in there…watching him, imagining him slathered in barbecue sauce like the ribs he’d eaten for dinner, and he hoped whatever it was hadn’t been there when he’d changed into his pjs.

His momma had even said all the barbecue sauce that had been smeared over his cheeks and chin – and maybe a little on his forehead - only made him taste sweeter when she kissed him goodnight.

Jensen’s panting breaths felt even warmer trapped against the fabric of the blanket he was holding over the lower half of his face, and he found it more difficult to breathe as his fear clogged the limited air that was available.

He briefly wondered if he might suffocate before any monster had a chance to eat him, and began to debate the merits of death by blanket over death by something ugly and hairy. He was thinking the blanket would probably hurt less, and it certainly had to smell better than a boy-eating monster, so he was leaning towards-

Wait. Did the closet door just open a little wider?

A flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye made Jensen stifle a squeal, his gaze flicking towards the chair in the corner of his room. A little boy was sitting awkwardly on the plump cushion, his legs sticking straight out just like Jensen’s did when he tried to sit in it.

Momma had told him the chair was for built for big boys when he asked why it didn’t fit, and that his feet wouldn’t touch the floor until he was older than Josh. Jensen’s eyes had widened at that idea, as Josh was _old_ \- a whole seven years old and already in school. Jensen was only five, so the idea of having to wait that long seemed impossible.

This strange boy didn’t look much bigger than Jensen did, though, so Jensen carefully dropped his blanket down till his nose and the edge of his upper lip showed over the hem.

“Are you a ghost?” Jensen whispered loudly, eyes wide at his own daring.

Ghosts had to be better than monsters.

He didn’t look much like a ghost, Jensen thought, though it was hard to see much about him, even with Jensen’s Mickey Mouse nightlight casting the wall behind him with arcs of color, like wings spread wide along the painted surface. The light did nothing to differentiate the boy’s dark hair from the shadows, and Jensen couldn’t even begin to guess what color his eyes were, barely discernible as more than dark pits in his face.

The blanket edged higher.

He needed a better nightlight, Jensen decided. A big one, maybe Superman instead of stupid Mickey Mouse. Superman wouldn’t put up with any of this.

“No, I’m a Castiel,” the boy replied, kicking his feet until his shoelaces flopped against the tops of his shoes. He appeared enraptured by the sight, continuing with the motion until Jensen shifted more upright in his bed and frowned in his direction.

“There’s no such things as Castiels,” Jensen informed him, the gaping blackness of the open closet door no longer of concern.

“Who told you that?”

“My momma.”

Jensen didn’t think that was really a fib, even if his momma hadn’t been quite so specific. All she had said was that there were no such things as monsters, but Jensen was quite sure a strange boy appearing in his room in the middle of the night had to fall under the possibly-a-monster category somehow. So since momma had said there were no such things as monsters, then there had to be no such things as strange-boys-with-floppy-shoelaces-named-Castiels, either.

“Your momma’s wrong,” the boy said with a shrug. “’Cause I’m Castiel.”

Jensen’s mouth fell open in surprise at the idea his momma was wrong about anything, and then the looming chasm of his open closet door refocused his attention. If momma was wrong about Castiels, then she might just be wrong about closet monsters, too.

He wiggled back under the covers until nothing but his eyes showed, cocooned in his cowboy wrapping.

“Are you scared?” Castiel asked. The boy sniffed, his nose twitching like Mark Peterson’s bunny’s when he gave it a carrot. “You smell scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Jensen denied, his wavering voice muffled by his blanket.

The boy’s head swung between Jensen’s wide eyes and the open closet door, until a determined look crossed his face and he began to wriggle forward in the chair. He scooched until his feet were dangling over the floor, and then hopped off the cushioned seat, walking toward Jensen’s closet with his shoulders back and his little hands clasped into fists.

The weird thing, Jensen noticed, was that the shadows on the wall seemed to follow him.

When Castiel got there, he shoved the door shut with both hands, the resulting click making Jensen slump with relief. Then the boy walked toward Jensen’s bed, and he leaned forward into the small circle of light coming from the muted lamp on Jensen’s night table, the darkness gathering oddly behind him. The shadows receded from his eyes, the blue sparkling bright in the dim light, and Jensen offered him a tentative smile. There was _no_ _way_ ghosts had blue eyes.

Castiel’s nose twitched like a bunny’s again, and he said, “You’re not scared anymore.”

Jensen just shook his head, and Castiel took this as an affirmative. His little hand reached out, and he had to stretch up on his tiptoes to reach that high, but his fingers brushed Jensen’s forehead and he said, in a voice like Jensen’s daddy when he wanted to make sure Jensen was listening, “Sleep.”

Jensen woke the next morning when his momma came in and kissed him on the forehead, murmuring with a proud smile, “That’s my big boy. You spent the whole night in your room by yourself. I told you there was nothing to be afraid of.”  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel makes a far better Megatron than Josh ever did, even if he can't say the name right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to moony_mistress for betaing! She also inspired the Metatron comment. This story will be comprised of a series of vignettes of Jensen and Castiel at different ages as their relationship develops over the years. Jensen and his family own themselves, Kripke owns Castiel.

The sun was shining brightly upon the crisp, green grass, though the heat was tempered by the cool breeze wafting gently through the shrubbery, making the leaves chitter and rustle with satisfaction. It was a perfect spring afternoon; the flowers dancing brightly along the borders of the walk gave the house a flirty hem of color that made it seem alive. This was the worst day Jensen had ever had in his entire life. He knew this to be true because he felt all heavy and icky on the inside, and his eyes stung like he might cry.

But he wasn’t; he _wasn’t_ a baby, no matter what Josh said.

Josh was the worst big brother in the world; Jensen was absolutely sure of this fact. So what if Josh’s friend from school had invited him over to play soccer in his backyard. That didn’t mean he had to leave Jensen behind with nothing to do on a Saturday. Josh had to be here so they could play Transformers. Jensen couldn’t do it without Josh, because there was no way he could be both Optimus Prime and Megatron all at once.

Jensen pouted at the toy in his hand, debating whether or not he should bury Megatron under the rosebushes or throw it in the pool so Josh couldn’t find it. The problem, Jensen had realized, was that Megatron was his and he didn’t want to lose it, even if he was really mad at his brother.

So instead Jensen banged the offending piece of plastic on a rock to show his displeasure, and then sat frowning at the scratch that now marred Megatron’s chest plate.

It was dumb Josh’s fault his toy was ruined.

“Why did you do that?”

Jensen’s head swung upwards, and he blinked in surprise at the little boy squatting in front of him, his clothes still immaculate, even outside where the dirt was so temptingly cool today. The boy stared back at Jensen with his head cocked to the side, as if Jensen’s answer was the most important thing in the universe.

“Because my brother is a stupid head.” Jensen’s eyes flicked to the patio door to make sure his momma hadn’t heard him using a bad word. He didn’t want to get in trouble, even if it was true. “You’re…Cas-Cash-Case….” Jensen’s tongue tangled around the name, and his forehead furrowed as he tried to force it out of his mouth. It had been almost two weeks since he’d last seen the boy, and the name had been a hard one to pronounce, he remembered.

“Castiel,” the boy corrected, taking a seat on the ground. His nose twitched, and his large, blue eyes fixed on Jensen. “You’re lonely.”

Jensen frowned again at the boy’s statement, and he covertly sniffed his own arm to see if he smelled. Momma had made him take a bath the night before, and he only had a little dirt on his hands, and maybe a lot on his clothes, but he didn’t think it was too bad.

It just smelled like dirt. Dirt smelled good, though his momma might not agree.

“I’m Jensen,” he replied, not quite understanding what the boy meant about smelling lonely, though it didn’t sound very nice. He scowled at the Megatron in his hand and then shoved it under his leg so he didn’t have to look at it.

Castiel continued to stare at him, watching Jensen lean forward to walk his Optimus Prime along a leaf.

Optimus Prime had just landed on an alien planet and was looking for a gas station, since Megatron wasn’t there to fight with him. But after several seconds, Optimus decided this place was boring, and debated flying over to the next planet, conveniently located in the mud puddle under the hose.

Suddenly, the evil Megatron was standing there in front of him, boldly blocking Optimus’ path to Mud Planet.

Jensen looked up, his green eyes meeting Castiel’s intense blue ones. A smile stretched over Jensen’s face and he sat back on his haunches to get down to business.  
  
"Beware, Megatron! Optim-"

"Do you mean Metatron?" Castiel asked, turning the toy to study it impassively.

" _Mega_ tron," Jensen said. He worried Castiel might be kind of dumb.

"Metatron is...more luminescent," Castiel finally admitted, placing the toy back on the playing field.

As Optimus and Megatron decided to explore the new planet together, Jensen chattered away to his new friend, who listened raptly to his every word.

“Josh is my brother. He’s kinda bossy.”

Castiel nodded, as if he understood. “I have a similar situation, but his name is Uriel. He can be very…authoritative.”

Jensen had no idea what Castiel was talking about, but that didn’t stop him from doing what he did best, so he continued on with his story.

“Now that Josh is in school, he thinks he’s too big to play with me. He says I’m not grown-up enough to play with!” Jensen’s lower lip wobbled and he sniffled loudly. He wasn’t a _baby_. “He thinks he knows everything.”

“Uriel says I’ll remember more as you grow,” Castiel said, his placid face showing a hint of upset. Jensen didn’t understand what that meant, and it didn’t look like Castiel understood it either, so he didn’t feel as dumb. “He says the knowledge of the universe doesn’t fit in here,” and Castiel thumped his chest. “It’s a limitation of being assigned to a human when they’re so young.”

“He sounds like Josh. He doesn’t like to babysit, either.”

They continued to play in the mud, Optimus and Megatron battling over who got to rule Mud Planet. Castiel wasn’t the best player; he lacked imagination, as Jensen’s momma would say, but that just meant Jensen got to tell him exactly what he had to do to play the game the _right_ way. Jensen kind of liked this about Castiel.

Not like Josh, who never listened at all.

They played the entire afternoon, no bossy big brothers necessary.

The funny thing was, sometimes, out of the corner of his eye, Jensen would see something hovering behind Castiel’s shoulders. At first Jensen thought it was just a trick of the light, a smudge of shadow that curved gracefully behind Castiel’s back, or flared outwards when his new friend was especially excited or agitated.

Not that it happened very often.

But it was always there, just out-of-sight, but not out of mind.

Only, when Jensen turned to see what had caught his attention, it would just be Castiel in his now dirty t-shirt and jeans, looking at Jensen with those big eyes as if awaiting his next command. There wasn’t anything spectacular about Castiel at all, when Jensen looked straight at him.

It was that sideways Castiel that made the hair on the back of Jensen’s neck stand up.

Didn’t matter, though. He was still a far better Megatron than stupid Josh.  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jensen may have been kissed by the Devil, but Castiel understands that ice cream makes everything better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to moony_mistress for betaing! This story will be comprised of a series of vignettes of Jensen and Castiel at different ages as their relationship develops over the years. Jensen and his family own themselves, Kripke owns Castiel.

Jensen lay in bed, covered in small beige spots that barely hid the red splotches beneath, and did his best to do what his momma had told him. But it was _so hard_ not to itch, even though that was the only thing he was able to do right now. She’d even made him put on the baby mittens without any fingers so he couldn’t dig in and scratch like Buster did next door when he got fleas. Jensen wasn’t lucky enough to just have fleas though, so he couldn’t ask for a collar and go outside and play like he wanted. Instead, Jensen entertained himself the only way that came to mind, and imagined his death.

According to Josh, chicken pox was the mark of the Devil. He had Jensen terrified that he was going to be kidnapped in the middle of the night to be added to Satan’s collection of lumpy, bumpy, itchy kids trapped in Hell’s basement.

Jensen didn’t even know Hell _had_ a basement, until Josh told him so in graphic detail. He did wonder if Hell’s basement was carpeted and had a pool table, like Mrs. MacAllister’s did down the block. Jensen was allowed to drink soda in Mrs. MacAllister’s basement.

That would be kind of cool, but Jensen hoped the Devil liked Coke rather than Pepsi.

It was after dinner and his momma had just taken away his tray, ruffling his hair since kisses were contagious, and Jensen was nervously eyeing the darkening corners of his room. It was lucky that Josh had warned him that saying anything to his parents about it only sped up the process, since then the Devil would know he’d missed the little boy hiding upstairs on their street, and be sure to collect him as soon as possible.

“Is your mother gone?”

Jensen muffled a shriek into his blanket at the sound of the voice coming from under his bed, using the flannel fabric as some sort of shield. He heard something grunting its way out from under the comforter’s overhang, and a surge of shadow swelled out of the corner of his eye before Castiel’s tousled hair appeared over the edge of the bed, dotted with dustballs.

Castiel’s hair was soon followed by Castiel’s eyes, and then his body, thank goodness.

Jensen was relieved to have company. Maybe Castiel could say goodbye to his momma for him after Jensen was dragged away.

“Your mother was in here for a very long time,” Castiel observed. “She doesn’t usually take so much time to wish you goodnight.”

Jensen saw Castiel’s nose twitch in his direction, but the little boy didn’t offer any explanation about why he was there - or why he had been under Jensen’s bed, which was a little creepy. Jensen assumed Castiel’s arrival had to do with his imminent doom, since Castiel always seemed to show up when Jensen needed him, like when he accidentally dropped his cake at Milo’s birthday party, or when Henry Sheldon made Jensen cry by ripping up the picture he’d drawn for his momma in kindergarten.

Castiel was his best friend, and that’s what best friends did.

“Do you know anything about Hell?” Jensen asked, reluctantly lowering his blanket.

Castiel blinked at him, careful and measured, and Jensen’s fingers jerked inside his mittens as he fought against the urge to scratch.

“I would not suggest going there,” Castiel finally said.

Jensen plucked awkwardly at the blanket with his mittened hands, trying to look his most piteous, lower lip trembling as he admitted, “I won’t have a choice. Look!” He held out his arm, which was spotted with the tiny, itchy blisters that marked his fate. “I’ve been kissed by the Devil.”

Jensen hoped he looked brave.

“He’s coming to put me in his basement with the others – add me to his collection.” Jensen’s voice lowered to a horrified, yet gleeful whisper, as he added, “I think he even kissed my butt!” and wriggled against the sheets to scratch a particularly bothersome spot.

Castiel’s expression was hard to decipher. Jensen didn’t know whether he looked confused or surprised, as all of Castiel’s expressions tended to look pretty much alike. Instead, Jensen got another slow blink and a, “What?”

“Josh told me.”

Jensen tried for brave, yet delicate, and lay back against his plumped pillows. Maybe Castiel would go downstairs and get him some ice cream.

“Lucifer has no interest in collecting sick children,” Castiel told him. “Your brother was misinformed.”

It took a minute, but Jensen began to suspect his ice cream might not be coming, and that Josh deserved a kick in the shin. A really _hard_ kick.

“You appear disappointed.”

Jensen merely rolled over and mumbled something unintelligible into his pillow, cheeks flushed pink from more than just fever.

Castiel acted as if that made sense, and when Jensen blinked, he was gone. He was back a moment later when Jensen’s eyes were starting to flutter closed, holding a small bowl with a scoop of chocolate ice cream heaped in the middle.

“Your brother was fixing himself a snack,” Castiel said. As if to verify Castiel’s claim, Jensen heard Josh’s outraged shout not a second later. “But you need it more than he does.”

Jensen grabbed the bowl out of Castiel’s hands, and kindly scooted over to make some space on his bed. With a jerk of his head and ice cream already smeared over his chin, he indicated that Castiel should sit beside him.

Castiel carefully crawled onto the bed next to him, settling on top of the blanket.

“You want some?” Jensen asked, thinking it only fair to share in the spoils. When Castiel didn’t reply, he held out a spoonful of ice cream gripped awkwardly in his mittened hand, ignoring the path of brown drips that now dotted the covers. “Try it. It’s good!”

Castiel couldn’t refuse once Jensen jammed the spoon in the general vicinity of his mouth, clacking sharply against his teeth. He swallowed the treat with barely a murmur, his face now just as smeared as Jensen’s.

“Good, huh?” Jensen scraped some more from the bottom of the bowl, mumbling through the sticky sweetness, “You wanna stay over? We can watch cartoons all day tomorrow!”

“If you wish for the company,” Castiel agreed, leaning stiffly back against Jensen’s headboard.

Jensen fell asleep with Castiel’s rigid form still propped up beside him, comforted by the solid presence of his friend in the dark – even if the Devil wasn’t going to make an appearance that evening.

It was easier to fall asleep knowing he was there.

Jensen woke the next morning to find Castiel in the same position, eyes already trained on the blank television Jensen’s momma had brought into his room.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jensen's whole family might think he's crazy, but at least he's got Nana Ackles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to moony_mistress for betaing! This story will be comprised of a series of vignettes of Jensen and Castiel at different ages as their relationship develops over the years. Jensen and his family own themselves, Kripke owns Castiel.

“How’s Casper doin’, dork?” Josh asked, leaning against the doorframe to Jensen’s bedroom.

Jensen just frowned down at his desk, his spelling list crumpled slightly under his fisted hand. He took several deep breaths, before he unclenched his grip and smoothed out his once pristine homework, hoping Mrs. Kellerman didn’t get mad at the mess. Then he picked up his pencil and began writing his spelling sentences once more, the pencil lines oppressively dark against the white of the paper.

Josh didn’t take the hint, and the lines just grew darker.

“Is Drop Dead Fred too busy to hang out with you today?”

When Jensen continued to ignore his taunts, his brother just shrugged and said, “If your head starts rotating, gimme a shout, OK? I want to tape it for _Funniest Home Videos_ ,” before he headed downstairs towards the kitchen.

The lead in Jensen’s pencil snapped, and he sat at his desk frowning at the hole that had somehow dug its way into the paper.

Castiel had become a bit of a family joke. They had always called Jensen an imaginative child, and had cooed and coddled him appreciatively with every tale he’d told about Castiel and their adventures when he was younger. His aunts thought he would become a writer for sure, and he’d heard a few muffled conversations between his father’s friends about how he was a little too into his own head, and maybe he needed to learn how to play football or golf or something before he got too “arty” and went off to some California school.

It had taken Jensen a couple of years to catch on that no one else could see Castiel, that their playful questions and comments were no indication that they had actually interacted with Castiel at all. For nearly two years, his imaginary friend had been invited to dinners, birthdays, holidays, and assorted other family gatherings - though he’d rarely attended - and the ease with which Castiel was welcomed into the family made something inside Jensen’s chest burn warm and soft. It was only when he caught his mother asking an empty chair if it would like more lemonade one hot, summer day that Jensen finally caught on that something wasn’t quite right. Particularly when Castiel was standing right beside him by the sliding door that led out to the pool, where they had planned to spend the rest of the afternoon.

Castiel had even borrowed a pair of Jensen’s swim trunks.

It had all gone downhill from there.

It seemed that the adults felt that having a Castiel got less cute the older Jensen got, and now any hint of Jensen’s imaginary friend led to pinched expressions and muttered comments that didn’t sound as cute and coddling as they had before.

Castiel didn’t seem to care one way or the other about what Jensen’s family thought, watching them talk to the empty spaces around him with his usual focused gaze. When Jensen finally caught on and asked why no one else could see him, Castiel’s response was brief, though it cleared nothing up for Jensen.

“It remains unnecessary.”

Now, even though Jensen didn’t discuss Castiel with his family anymore, his mom or brother would catch him supposedly talking to himself, and he had started to overhear whispered conversations between his parents that involved scary things like doctors and medication.

The only one who believed Jensen was his Nana Ackles. She had a lot of the old country in her, though she had never set foot on her home soil, and had lulled Jensen to sleep with tales of brownies, elves, and the ‘little people’. It was Nana Ackles who had informed Jensen of the purity of salt and silver, had whispered in his ear what really danced within a circle of swirling leaves, and told him what to say when he first woke up on the first day of the month to ensure good luck for the next thirty days.

She was the one who taught Jensen to dream with his eyes wide open – or, as she often put it, he was the only one of her children or grandchildren with the sense enough to listen.

Castiel seemed to approve of his Nana, and Nana was the only one who always made a point to say hello to Castiel when he was in the room with Jensen, not a hint of mocking in her tone.

Nana Ackles ignored the whispered comments and insistence that she needed to stop babying the boy, and would pull Jensen onto her lap when they were alone, asking him what he’d been up to with his friend Castiel lately. After the revelation that his entire family was starting to think he was crazy, Jensen tried to deny he’d done anything with Castiel, even if he’d seen his grandmother watching him and Castiel slay St. George’s dragon from her kitchen window. But Nana Ackles wouldn’t put up with lies or half-truths, and eventually the entire adventure would spill out of Jensen’s mouth, leaving his Nana laughing along with him. She told him to keep Castiel close to his heart, because sometimes special people were lucky enough to get special friends that were there just for them. She said some people called them guardian angels, others might call them imaginary, but they all served the same purpose and such a gift shouldn’t be refused.

Jensen would nod in reply, sleepily nestled in his grandma’s lap, his eyes half-lidded. His gaze was fixed on Castiel’s large, blue eyes peering at him through the banisters on the staircase, the boy’s fingers grasping the black-wooded spindles. The dark shadows that sometimes seemed to inhabit the space behind Castiel were spread so wide they seemed to stretch from wall to wall, bleeding and blending into the darkness gathered in the twilight corners of his grandmother’s house.

When Castiel shifted to ease silently closer, those soft edged shapes folded across the corner of the living room, the angle of the wall bending the blackness until the very tips tickled Jensen’s feet. His eyes slid closed as the familiar tingle of Castiel encompassed him, his Nana’s pleased hum warm against his ear.  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fourth grade kind of sucks when you're the weird kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to moony_mistress for betaing! This story will be comprised of a series of vignettes of Jensen and Castiel at different ages as their relationship develops over the years. Jensen and his family own themselves, Kripke owns Castiel.

Jensen hated fourth grade.

It was bad enough he had to start at a brand new school this year, far from the lazy comfort of following in Josh’s footsteps at the school down the block where all of the kids from his neighborhood went. But his parents had thought he’d be better off starting somewhere fresh, away from the other children and the teachers who had long started to look at him funny.

But it wasn’t a separate universe, or even another district; it was just a different school in the same town where everyone knew each other’s business no matter what happened.

Jensen was more than a little disappointed that his momma turned out to be such a big, fat liar, promising that things would get better after he’d settled in.

They hadn’t. They’d just gotten worse.

At least at his old school, the very familiarity of the students kept the teasing to a low murmur in the background. If any of the other children dared to voice their thoughts on Jensen’s imaginary friend aloud – the news spreading surprisingly fast beyond the boundaries of Jensen’s own backyard - their parents would hush them with quiet hisses, and teachers would step in with firm warnings on the playground. While there might have been the occasional spat, the more obvious cruelty that was the specialty of children was kept to a minimum.

Here, even in this new place it was old news. The story had spread through friends-of-friends and fellow parishioners, the thin threads of gossip inextricably tangled through every part of this town like a spider’s web. He was that odd boy, the strange, pretty one that talked to himself – far too old now for the forgiveness granted younger children.

Now what was once pardoned as an overactive imagination had become a pet peeve, and his new school didn’t have the safety net of Josh’s shadow or his parents’ constant presence to protect him. Not recognizing him as Josh Ackles’ baby brother or Mrs. Ackles’ youngest son, to his new teacher he was just _Jensen_ , the problem child, the one who talked too much and was often borderline disrespectful.

The odd, _different_ one she didn’t know how to handle.

He couldn’t help it that his new teacher didn’t know what she was talking about. When she mentioned that scientists had no evidence of life on other planets, Jensen couldn’t control himself and raised his hand, announcing that there was a _whole planet_ of those cockroach-crab things they’d seen at the museum last week.

After all, when the class had been at the Natural History Museum to look at the fossils, most of them staring upwards at the giant skeleton of the Tyrannosaurus Rex, Jensen had caught Castiel looking at a case of what seemed to be boring old rocks. Jensen crept closer and saw the strange bug-like images trapped in the stones, fascinated by the hollow echo of creatures that had lived so long ago.

As the rest of the class had trailed after the teacher to stare at some more old stuff, Castiel had mentioned off-handedly to Jensen that it was rather lucky these creatures had died out on earth so long ago. When Jensen had asked why, he had lifted his gaze to meet Jensen’s and admitted that he had seen them elsewhere, but they had evolved to the size of Jensen’s mother’s minivan and preferred protein-based nutrients – much like the locusts of Egypt, if they’d been more akin to alligators and just as carnivorous.

Jensen had immediately crossed astronaut off his what-to-be-when-he-grew-up list.

The teacher hadn’t taken this correction as gratefully as Jensen had hoped. In fact, she was the opposite of thankful for his help, even if he’d been polite about it and raised his hand. She’d asked him if he’d seen this in a movie, and that was when Jensen realized what he’d done.

Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut? This talking thing was what always got him into trouble.

Jensen couldn’t lie – momma and the preacher had taught him that much - so he did his best to talk his way around it. He denied that he’d seen it in a movie, and instead went with what he’d heard the cops say on TV. He told his teacher he’d gotten it from a very reliable source, and her face had gone all pinched, like she’d just stepped in dog poop. She reluctantly asked who this source was, as if she already knew.

She probably did. His momma had a long meeting with his teacher before school had started this year. He remembered the time written in red ink on the calendar in the kitchen, and had hoped his momma wouldn’t say anything too embarrassing.

He kind of thought maybe she had, from the look on his teacher’s face.

Jensen immediately got that sick feeling in his stomach when he knew he was heading for trouble and couldn’t stop himself, but he had to be honest so he told her he’d heard it from a friend.

The next question made the entire class giggle, even though the more polite children tried to turn their faces away and hide it behind their hands.

“Was this a _real_ friend?”

Jensen’s jaw tightened, though his gaze was fixed on a small scratch on the surface of his desk.

“Jensen? I asked you a question.”

His hands clenched into fists in his lap, and his eyes continued to trace that dark, lead-filled mark, its sharp, jagged edged reflecting what was going on inside of him.

Suffice it to say, the day did not improve from that point onward.

Jensen found himself slumped on the bench outside of the principal’s office, the rise and fall of his parent’s voices behind the door not nearly as soothing as he would have hoped. He thought it was the rather loud voice of the principal that made it sound like things were not going to turn out well.

“Something is wrong,” Castiel stated, and Jensen’s gaze flicked towards the boy that was now sitting stiffly beside him, tense green eyes meeting bright, blue ones.

Jensen slumped even further, his hands stuffed in his pockets, making the secretary frown in warning at his bad posture, though he didn’t notice.

“You’re always getting me into trouble!” he nearly shouted, too upset to control himself. He ignored the niggling guilt in his belly that refuted that statement, too scared of what was going on in the principal’s office. “Everybody thinks I’m a freak!” Angry tears welled in his eyes and his cheeks were flushed red with emotion. “I wish you’d never shown up!”

Castiel absorbed his outburst with his usual stoicism, observing Jensen with his own curious brand of detachment. Jensen’s eyes squeezed shut to stem his tears, and he heard a door slam open beside him, his parents’ voices tumbling over the principal’s as they tried to calm him down. When Jensen blinked his eyes open, Castiel was gone, leaving him surrounded by grown-ups with no shoulder to lean on. Their voices just got louder, even as Jensen quieted and withdrew into himself.

For the first time in his life, he felt alone.

It was decided that this problem was too big for the district psychologist to handle, and perhaps the Ackles should look into private medical help before Jensen returned to school.   



	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Jensen's parents learned about this, it would mean going back to the doctor for sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to moony_mistress for betaing! Kripke owns Castiel and Jensen owns himself.

Jensen couldn’t believe his eyes.

Sally Jameson was kissing Brett Pattrick under the bleachers.

After nearly three years of home schooling and one year of adjustment back into regular school as the transfer student from the next county, his “normal” life had just been ruined. Jensen had just asked Sally at second lunch to go to Keith’s thirteenth birthday party with him, hoping that he might finally get a kiss, and here she was shoving her tongue down Brett’s throat.

“What are they doing?”

Jensen didn’t even jump at the sound of Castiel’s voice beside him, knowing with absolute certainty that his friend’s nose was twitching like a rabbit’s. He’d come to expect Castiel’s sudden appearance when his life was going down the toilet.

That brief time in elementary school when his life had gone to Hell and back, Castiel turned out to be his only real friend. It was hard not to learn to rely on Castiel when he was the only one near Jensen’s age that would talk to him during those three awkward home-schooled years.

Nothing attracted Castiel faster than an unhappy Jensen. Maybe misery really did love company. It might have taken nearly a month of Castiel-free time to realize it, but when Jensen had finally hit his lowest point and begun to agree with the doctors that maybe Castiel wasn’t as real as he’d always thought, Castiel had shown back up as if he’d never been gone. It hadn’t hurt that it seemed like some of the other out-patients could see him too, though Castiel paid them no heed. For him, there was only Jensen, and Jensen felt a little bit of pride regarding that fact. Jensen’s psychiatrist had once called Castiel an audiovisual representation of his subconscious desires, and then spent the next hour scaring his parents with a summary of the signs of early on-set schizophrenia and a long list of medications.

Jensen had learned to be a lot more careful after that.

“Ruining my life,” Jensen grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. Even as horrible as it was to see the girl he’d had a crush on for the entire year making out with his supposed friend, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way Brett’s arms tightened around Sally’s slight frame.

With his luck, Brett would even get to second base right there within sight of the middle school gymnasium. Wouldn’t that just be the cherry on the top of Jensen’s day?

He felt Castiel shift beside him. Jensen glanced at him from the corner of his eye and saw that Castiel was absorbing the scene with his usual neutral expression, and he let out a tiny, guilty huff.

“They’re kissing,” he admitted under his breath. “He’s kissing my date to Keith’s birthday party.”

“A birthday party?” Castiel asked, something like interest in his tone. “Like the one you had with the cake and balloons and the strange man with the red nose?”

“I was _six_ , Castiel,” Jensen said with a flush to his cheeks. “And my mom picked the clown.”

“I like cake,” Castiel said with a pleased hum. “Will there be cake?”

“No, there won’t be cake, because I’m not going.” Jensen frowned at the sight of Brett’s hand disappearing under Sally’s blouse. “Not since my date is making out with Brett.”

Castiel blinked, turning his head to study the two distant figures once more. “I can be your date, if that is what is required. Then may I have cake?”

“Uh, no thanks, Cas. I need a date other people can see.”

“So it is not the lack of a…date that is making you unhappy?”

“Not really.” Jensen took a moment to think about how to explain it, and when he turned to face Castiel he felt the dry press of lips against his own. He stumbled back with a huff of surprise, eyes widening as Castiel’s intense, blue-eyed gaze latched onto his.

“What was that for?!” Jensen demanded, not sure of the etiquette for this situation. He wiped at his mouth with his sleeve, warily eyeing Castiel in case his friend came at him again. He was discomfited by the knowledge that Castiel’s lips were chapped, and what the roughness had felt like against his own.

It had been kind of…interesting.

Jensen stamped down on that feeling and rubbed harder at his mouth. “Boys don’t kiss!”

“I’m not a boy,” Castiel informed him, cocking his head to the side like a quizzical bird. “And you’re not unhappy anymore.”

Castiel would say things like this sometimes, and Jensen just took it to mean that his imaginary friend was a little confused on the basics.

“No, more like nauseated.” Jensen felt that was an adequate descriptor of the swirling in his belly.

Jensen turned to leave, only to find Castiel suddenly in front of him, eyes level with his. He was surprised to see a bit of concern in Castiel’s expression, and his friend said, “Uriel would not approve.”

“Let me guess,” Jensen began. “He would have suggested smiting?”

It’s no wonder the doctors had found him so fascinating. He’d probably been the only fourth grader to use the word ‘smiting’ in casual conversation.

“Why can’t boys kiss?” Castiel said instead. “They did on that TV program we saw when Josh fell asleep babysitting.”

Jensen decided to skip this conversation and move on to more manageable matters, since he wasn’t sure of the answer himself. “I need to skip sixth period. You wanna go home and watch some TV?”

Castiel nodded, asking evenly, “Can we play that game with the cars?” When Jensen grunted agreement, Castiel turned to lead the way, his loose shirt flaring around him, the shadows collected behind him dispersing with the movement of the fabric. Jensen followed, his fingers reaching up to brush over his lips as he gave Sally and Brett one last perturbed glance.

Great. His first kiss was with his imaginary friend who happened to be a boy. If his parents ever learned about this, it would mean going back to the doctor for sure.  



	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jensen's become really good at pretending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to moony_mistress for betaing! If you see any Spanish errors, blame Babelfish. This is another vigentte in the Castiel-as-Jensen's-imaginary-friend story. Kripke owns Castiel and Jensen owns himself.

High school was as easy for him as it was for most kids, Jensen supposed. The socio-political quagmire that was Berkner High made it seem a miniature United Nations - various cliques and solitary agents forging alliances, truces, mergers, and hostile takeovers to cement their own status amongst the rabble.

Jensen didn’t see much point to it, though he learned how to swim through its shark-infested waters with only the occasional bite.

Yeah, he was still the weird kid, but he molded that impression to suit his needs and became the kind of weird that didn’t cause any ripples. Weird had its own clique, but it was peopled with the drama geeks and arty types that every school population had, so Jensen wasn’t really all that different.

He cemented his place as weird-but-not- _too_ -weird (heck, he’d had enough of that to last a lifetime) with a little baseball and lacrosse thrown in so he wasn’t pigeon-holed by his own publicity.

Joining a sport’s team was Castiel’s suggestion, after a weekend of watching far too much television. Well, not so much a suggestion as an observation, when he pointed out in his straightforward way that it was the boys who were good with balls that were the most esteemed.

After laughing until he’d nearly puked, Castiel watching with his slightly bemused expression, Jensen agreed. He found out that all of their playful battles to smite the unrighteous had made him really good with sticks, which left out most of the big name athletics that the cheerleaders favored, like football or basketball.

He didn’t have many options left, and since Berkner didn’t have a hockey team and tennis was a.) too solitary to be of any use in the social machinations of the average high school and b.) even gayer than drama club, there was little choice in the matter.

Lacrosse and baseball it was.

The fortunate thing was, even though Jensen had burrowed his way into the social network of Berkner High by camouflaging himself in a herd of people even weirder than he might be, he was a damn good actor. He was given parts in school plays from day one and excelled at pretending to be something he wasn’t.

Sometimes Jensen had the sinking feeling it was because he’d had so much practice pretending to be normal, when he’d spent most of his life living in his own head with an imaginary friend who had a penchant for religious verse and almost no sense of humor.

Then Castiel would show up when he needed a partner to rehearse, and any bitter feelings would disappear as a very stone-faced Tybalt taunted Mercutio, or a deep-voiced Dolly Levi would sing, off-key, urging a young Barnaby Tucker to find love in New York.

Castiel might not have a natural talent for emoting, but Jensen appreciated the effort. He even thought it might be helping Castiel, since he was noticing a few more expressions twisting his friend’s features, and Castiel’s inherent stiff upper lip seemed to be relaxing.

Despite forging his new identity and fitting in better than could be expected, Jensen’s weekends weren’t always cram packed with excitement. He still spent far too much time alone, according to his mother, though Jensen wasn’t ever really alone, no matter what his mother assumed. Now that the cards had been laid on the table, so to speak, Castiel always seemed to be hovering, though Jensen had trained himself not to react to his friend’s idle comments or sudden appearances when in a crowd.

Dare he say, it appeared that Castiel was almost curious about Jensen’s life outside of their solitary experiences, and had started popping up in history class or algebra or science. After he finally learned to expect Castiel’s presence, Jensen had far fewer heart attacks and dropped fewer books when Castiel appeared at the desk beside him.

Unsurprisingly, according to Castiel, history was all wrong – _Grant was a vessel for Raphael during that battle. Why does your text say nothing of that?_ – algebra was entirely useless – _numbers only exist because Father was bored of giving everything individual names. And no, x cannot equal 6 because it is already x and cannot be two things at once_. – and science was pure heresy – _Father created covalent bonds, because those electrons were destined to be together._

Castiel seemed to have a high opinion of his imaginary father. If Jensen listened to even half of what Castiel mumbled, he’d never graduate high school. Fortunately, Castiel had little to say about Spanish.

“Latin would be more useful,” Castiel said, leaning over the partition in the language lab to stare at Jensen, who was wearing headphones. The fortunate side effect of this was that Castiel’s commentary was muffled to a distant murmur. Jensen kept his gaze fixed on the chalkboard and listened to the taped voice droning in his ear.

 _The shoes are blue. Las zapatas están azules. Repetamé_.

As Jensen repeated the phrase, Castiel said more loudly, “ _Excita, quǽsumus, Dómine, poténtiam tuam, et veni: et magna nobis virtúte succúrre…._ That’s much better, isn’t it?”

Jensen allowed his eyes to roll over in Castiel’s direction, though his face remained forward, and replied, “ _Mi amigo es loco_.”

“ _Es-tá loco, señor Ackles_ ,” the teacher automatically corrected from the table up front, before scolding another student for swearing in Spanish.

“Are you going to rehearse after school today?” Castiel asked, looking a little forlorn at the idea of having nothing to do.

“ _Sí_ ,” Jensen replied.

“Uriel is very disapproving,” Castiel admitted. “He says your play is lying in the eyes of God.”

Jensen barely hid his sigh, as it was a well-known fact that Uriel was a bigger pain in the ass than his own big brother.

“ _Conoces_ …” He sighed and yanked the headphones off to whisper, “You know it’s just pretend. It’s a full dress rehearsal; you need to be there!”

Castiel looked almost puzzled, a wrinkle forcing its way across his smooth forehead. “I do not see why I need to play the part of a six-foot imaginary rabbit.”

“You were the only man for the job,” Jensen replied dryly, shoving the headphones back around his ears. “No other imaginary people showed up to try out.”

The irony was not lost on Jensen, getting the lead in a play about a man with an imaginary friend that turns out to be more real than anyone expected. Nor was it lost on his parents, who hemmed and hawed before his therapist suggested it might be a cleansing experience for Jensen to participate. Fortunately, he was safe from censure from the rest of the school populace, who weren’t party to Jensen’s sordid past.

Thank God his family had moved before he started high school.

Jensen put on a more pleading expression, sticking out his lower lip. “C’mon, Cas. I _really_ need you there.”

“ _En Español, señor Ackles_ ,” his teacher called distractedly across the room.

“ _Por favor?_ ” Jensen pleaded, widening his eyes and adding a tremble to his lower lip.

Castiel caved, or at least he looked a little disturbed by Jensen’s expression.

“You need me there?” Jensen knew duty pulled at his friend, and saying he needed him was a sure fire way to ensure Castiel’s attendance, so he nodded in answer.

Damn, he was really good at this acting thing.

“Must I wear the rabbit ears?”

Jensen nodded again, repeating something about _mariscos_ into the microphone. Castiel looked ready to debate the necessity of the ears, so Jensen yanked off the headphones once more and said earnestly, “The ears are the soul of the character, Cas. I do _my_ best when you do _your_ best.”

Castiel didn’t dare look displeased, but his answer was less than cheerful. “I shall fulfill my duty.”

Jensen hid a satisfied grin behind his hand. Castiel was awesome.  



	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is a terrible wingman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to trocket for betaing! This is another vignette in the Castiel-as-Jensen's-imaginary-friend story. Kripke owns Castiel and Jensen owns himself.

“You have another social gathering this weekend?”

Jensen yelped, wide eyes peering from under the edge of the towel draped over his head as he glared in Castiel’s direction. “Cas! How many times do I have to tell you to knock when I’m in the bathroom?” Suddenly realizing the state of his affairs, he grabbed the wet towel and wrapped it around his waist instead, concealing his nakedness beneath. “You’re like my very own perverted stalker.”

Castiel cocked his head in Jensen’s direction, brow furrowed slightly. “I do not…stalk,” he corrected.

Jensen just hummed his disagreement under his breath and rubbed on some deodorant, lifting his arm and sniffing to make sure the scent took hold.

“You smell of the pine tree hanging from the mirror in your car,” Castiel informed him, his face appearing blanker than usual.

“I’ll take that as a plus,” Jensen said, staring at Castiel in the bathroom mirror with a furrowed brow. “You OK?”

Castiel just stood straighter, the shadows collected in the creases of the shower curtain behind him seeming to flutter in a nonexistent breeze. “You went out last weekend, and the one before.”

“Yeah?” Jensen asked, tugging on his underpants beneath his towel. “That’s a good thing; people think I’m normal enough to invite into their homes. It means the crazy hasn’t ruined my life forever.”

When he looked up, Castiel was gone. 

                                                                             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gabriella was a friendly girl.

 _Very_ friendly, Jensen quickly amended when he felt her hand grip his dick through his jeans.

Not like he could talk, considering her tongue was in his mouth and his hand had been under her shirt for the last fifteen minutes. She tasted like beer and pot and the faintest hint of strawberry lipgloss, something Jensen chose not to focus on as the mix wasn’t altogether his favorite flavor sensation. In fact, if he spent another second thinking about it, he’d probably vomit all over her rather ample cleavage.

So he did what any red-blooded American high school boy would do in this situation and pinched her nipple to make her moan as he pushed harder into her hand.

“Let’s go upstairs,” she whispered huskily into his ear.

Jensen was onboard with that plan. They left the milling masses grinding to the beat of whatever was spilling out of the speakers as Gabriella almost literally led him by the dick up the stairs while he did his best to slip his fingers under the elastic hem of her panties beneath her tight skirt.

Muffled giggles and moans came from behind the first few doors, but luck was still on his side and they stumbled into what looked to be an unoccupied room. Jensen removed his fingers from Gabriella’s vagina long enough to slam and lock the door shut behind them as she blindly flipped on one of the light switches, filling the room with soft light.

“I wanna see you,” she told him with a triumphant smile, and she flicked open the buttons on his jeans as she tugged him forward.

Jensen ignored the stuffed animal audience that indicated this might be Marc’s little sister’s room, and obediently followed Gabriella onto the bed.

He lay atop her, their bodies askew on the rumpled duvet, and he lifted his mouth away from her breast long enough to give a guttural moan as her hand finally wrapped around naked flesh.

“Oh, _God_ ,” Jensen hissed against her hair. “That feels _good_.”

Gabriella bit her lip, looking pleased, before scraping her teeth along his jaw. Her short skirt was already pushed up onto her hips, and Jensen could feel her heat burning him through the wet silk of her panties.

“You know what would feel even better?” Gabriella asked, licking the curl of his ear. “You inside me.”

A garbled noise came from Jensen at that bit of insight, and his hand brushed up the inside of her thigh before sinking into her damp heat. Her breath puffed out against his throat as she arched into his hand, and he dutifully explored the territory.

“What are you doing?”

Jensen stilled for a moment, prompting a pleading noise from the girl beneath him as he spotted Castiel perched atop the white dresser across from the bed.

“Do you think this is a wise course of action?” Castiel asked, looking at him just like he did that time when Jensen was eight and Jensen had suggested jumping from the garage roof and into the pool.

Jensen made what he hoped sounded like a _go away_ noise into Gabriella’s mouth, his eyes fixed on Cas, but his friend didn’t seem to understand the code, instead picking up a long eared rabbit from the counter beside him.

“You had one very similar to this several years ago,” Cas said, looking very seriously at the buck-toothed bunny’s threadbare smile. “What happened to Mr. Jangles?”

Gabriella moaned louder to encourage him, her fingers digging their way between them to guide his dick toward her entrance. At the feel of the bonfire between her legs and the silk edge of her panties caressing the tip of his cock, Jensen made a promise to himself to not only ignore Castiel, but also to work on his non-existent telepathic abilities so he could beam his ire directly into Castiel’s brain the next time he tried to cockblock him.

“M mphy,” Jensen mumbled quite firmly, shifting for a better angle around her panties that he had pushed aside with his thumb.

Gabriella pulled her mouth away from his. “What did you say?”

“It would be easier to understand you without the young lady’s tongue in your mouth,” Castiel said.

Jensen stilled, his entire body stiffening over Gabriella’s, and shouted, “Go _away_!”

He knew he should’ve just kept his mouth shut seconds before Gabriella’s lovely hand removed itself from the vicinity of his leaking dick. Jensen was almost afraid to look at her, and realized he should’ve followed his original instinct when he saw the frown marring her smooth skin.

Gabriella was stronger than she looked though, to be fair, most of Jensen’s blood flow had been centered in his groin for a while. She shoved him off her and struggled to tug her skirt down and straighten her shirt even as she got off the bed.

“You are such a jerk!” she shouted, looking far less attractive when her face was red and scrunched up like that. She picked up one of the numerous stuffed animals and threw it at Jensen’s head, before slamming the bedroom door behind her.

Jensen’s dick seemed to process events faster than his brain did, and was looking far less happy with this state of affairs than it recently had been. He didn’t even have energy enough to yell at Castiel, who watched things unfold with detached interest.

Jensen took several deep breaths and tucked himself back into his jeans, though he didn’t bother to button them. “What are you doing here, Cas?”

“It is my duty.”

“To what? Prevent me from getting laid?”

Castiel didn’t respond to that, so Jensen threw his head back and covered his eyes with his hand. “OK, since I can’t go back out there until she’s had more to drink and hopefully forgotten this horrible turn of events before she’s told the whole school, you wanna watch some TV?” He picked up the remote off the nightstand and turned on the small television sitting on the table by the window.

Jensen felt the weight of Castiel shift him slightly as his friend settled on the bed, their length of their arms pressed together. “Is David Letterman on?" Castiel asked.  "I find his commentary very informative.”

Jensen obediently turned it to CBS, where the gap-toothed host was talking with Tom Cruise. “You're such a dick, Cas. You totally owe me a handjob, at the very least."

Castiel turned his attention away from the television and peered at Jensen's lap as if trying to solve a particularly complex puzzle; Jensen realized his mistake and held up a hand to protect his stubbornly insistent virtue.  "I was kidding!  Just...look, next time you see me with a girl, you need to walk the other direction. Y’got me?”

Castiel’s face remained stoic. “But-”

“Do. You. Understand?” Jensen repeated more slowly.

Castiel settled back against the headboard with his mouth twisted slightly into what might have been displeasure. “Yes.”

“Good.” Jensen settled back beside him and there was an uneasy silence stretching between them for several minutes.

It seemed Castiel’s ability to restrain himself lasted only so long.

“Does that apply to every situation you find yourself in with a female?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Jensen replied. “Most definitely.”

“Even when they are at the height of their cycle?”

“Ye- Wait. What?” Jensen asked, blinking.

Castiel looked almost pleased when he refocused on the screen. “The girl was very fertile.”

“ _What?!_ ”

“I’m sure your children would have been considered attractive for humans.”

“But I- She had a cond-” Jensen sputtered to stop, reviewing the situation. He winced when the replay finally reached the climax of events.

“I shall heed your wishes and remain at a distance the next time you find yourself in such a situation,” Castiel said, sounding almost smug.

When Jensen looked at him, Castiel wore the same impassive expression he usually did.

“Why didn’t you say anything instead of watching like a pervert?”

“I did.”

“I definitely don’t remember-”

Castiel huffed a breath, turning the full force of his gaze upon Jensen. “I cannot tell you what to do, only give you options. It is up to you to make the final choice.”

Thinking back on it, it _had_ been impossible to jump into the pool from that distance, even with a running start. He did get everybody on the block to sign his cast, though.

Jensen blinked in stunned disbelief before he thunked his head against the headboard and decided to be a man about the situation – ignoring it as if it had never happened.

But only after one concession.

“What do you want to watch next?”  



End file.
